


Fencing With Reality

by fuzzballsheltiepants



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - No Exy (All For The Game), Background Covid Quarantine, Fencing, Fluff and Humor, M/M, implied/referenced PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26595907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzballsheltiepants/pseuds/fuzzballsheltiepants
Summary: What do you do when you're bored out of your skull during social distancing and a spider has just taken up residence in your living room?  If you're Andrew Minyard, you take up fencing and end up meeting someone who you can't get out of your head - even if you've never actually seen their face.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 54
Kudos: 461





	Fencing With Reality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tntwme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tntwme/gifts).



> Inspired by [this post](https://omghotmemes.tumblr.com/post/625488595872038912/im-convinced-to-learn-fencing) on Tumblr
> 
> This is a gift for the always-patient @tntwme for being an amazing beta and even better friend.
> 
> (Thank you to @CurvedYellowFruit for stepping in to beta to keep this a surprise, and as always to @FoxSoulCourt for being an incredible friend and cheerleader!)

There was a spider on the corner of the ceiling.

At least, Andrew was pretty sure it was a spider. It was roughly the size of his neighbor’s rottweiler, but the last time he checked dogs couldn’t climb up the walls and didn’t build webs. He could see the fucker without his glasses, and that in and of itself didn’t bode well for his chances of survival.

He had already done everything reasonable to try to get rid of it. Screaming and fleeing to hide in his car for an hour had proven unsuccessful. A flung shoe had left a scuff mark on the wall but missed the spider entirely. Whacking wildly with a broom had only sent it sailing across the room, and then he couldn’t see it at all. This was when he realized that a spider seen was better than a spider unseen.

Cue more time spent in his car.

It was back in its corner, its web rebuilt. He could feel its contempt for him rolling off of it in waves; it was laughing at him, a tiny spider laugh. Andrew Minyard, scourge of bullies everywhere, brought low by a spider.

He pulled out his phone. _Do spiders hold grudges?_

Google said no. He glanced up at the spider; even with his glasses he couldn’t see its expression, but he didn’t need to in order to recognize the truth of the matter: Google was wrong.

Okay. Car. There were no spiders in his car. He didn’t think.

Once in that haven, he texted Renee.

_there’s an intruder in my house_

**_A real one or another spider_ **

_fuck you_

_spider_

**_She’s more afraid you you than you are of her_ **

_patently false statement_

**_Be one with the spider_ **

**_Love the spider_ **

_i say once again, with all that is in my heart_

_fuck you_

He dropped his head back against the headrest. His fingers itched to do something, to hit something, someone; hell, his whole body did. But his gym was still closed, he couldn’t spar with Renee, picking a random fight would probably just get him arrested again, and walking did nothing to soothe this strange restlessness that crawled under his skin.

He was supposed to be made for this. It should’ve been ideal, he’d been practically training for this since he finished college. Half a decade spent practicing stillness, undone by a few months of isolation and a stupid virus. Even as things were starting to open back up, he couldn’t justify pushing the limits. Not when his brother was putting his life on the line every fucking day in the emergency room.

The road beckoned, as it had more and more these days. Plus driving would put more miles between him and the spider.

This was a familiar ritual. Most days found him driving outside the city, pressing the gas pedal almost to the floor as he navigated the narrow roads, for months now nearly empty. But he needed gas, so he pointed his nose towards the city proper and the gas station that was always suspiciously cheaper than everywhere else.

On leaving, he noticed a new sign on the sidewalk across the street. He glanced at it, then actually read it, snorting to himself. There were two figures in white outfits, helmets on their heads and swords in their outstretched hands. They looked vaguely like cheap Stormtroopers. And the writing proclaimed, in bold letters: **Fencing: the Perfect COVID-19 Sport. Masks. Gloves. And if anyone gets within 6 feet of you, you stab them.**

He read over the number, then hit his turn signal and punched the gas. Fencing. What a stupid stupid sport.

* * *

The fencing studio was not at all what he was expecting. Not that he had expectations, exactly. But it was basically like a ballet studio with lines taped onto the floor. One wall was all mirror, the opposite wall was all windows, and the ceilings were high enough that he couldn’t have seen any lurking spiders with binoculars.

He had actually gone and blown a hundred and fifty bucks on a helmet with the mesh mask and the stupid padded white jacket and the stupid white underarm protector thingy and the stupid heavy leather glove. He had skipped the ridiculous looking pants in favor of normal black workout pants, the same ones he wore sparring with Renee. And with the suit had come his own foil, a long light sword with a cap on the tip. He thought he would like épée better, because the internet told him that in épée he could stab people wherever he wanted, but the beginners were all required to start with foil.

A burly man stood at the front of the room, arms folded across his chest as he watched the uniformed students file in, an incongruously colorful parrot facemask blocking half his face. He was the only person not wearing a fencing helmet; it dangled from his fingers as he studied his students. Each person got assigned a taped-off lane, a dozen of them all-told. Andrew was fortunate enough to claim the lane closest to the wall. He sat on the floor and watched everyone through the screen of his mask. Not that he could tell much about them through all their gear, but he was still able to categorize them.

Tall and arrogant. Taller and goofy. Medium-sized and cocky. Medium-sized and clearly used to being in charge of every room. Short and twitchy. Tall and a total asshole; funny how that quality could shine through layers of fabric and a large masked helmet. Almost-tall and clearly rich. Medium-sized and stoic.

The instructor introduced himself as David Wymack and briefly ran through everybody’s names, checking them off on a clipboard. He then arranged them in order of height, which meant Andrew got to remain sitting on the floor against the wall. Short-and-Twitchy got placed next to him, and while Wymack finished they turned to Andrew.

“Hi. I’m Neil.”

Andrew gazed up at him impassively. His award-winning expression of perfect indifference was invisible through the mesh of his mask, which was unfortunate. After a long moment Neil shrugged, and turned his attention to Wymack as he strode back to the mirrored front of the room.

Wymack was, apparently, of the “no bullshit” school of instruction. He wasted little time on the French terminology that permeated the sport, assuring them that they would pick it up and that nobody would care if they mispronounced things. This led to a snort from Neil and a low agonized sound from Tall-and-Arrogant, which had the side effect of almost making Andrew laugh.

Then, it was footwork footwork footwork. Several of the others bitched about not being able to use their foils, but Andrew could feel almost immediately how perfecting this would improve his fighting skills. Wymack strolled up and down the lanes, correcting stances here and there.

Andrew noticed that he asked before touching each person to adjust their alignment or help them lift their core. And he noticed that Neil had hesitated and Wymack had merely given him verbal correction until he found the correct posture.

Wymack studied Andrew for a moment, watching him make the adjustments he had suggested to Neil. “Martial arts?” he asked.

“Of sorts,” Andrew answered. He didn’t think practicing street fighting on a weekly basis counted, even if it was with a tae kwon do expert. One of Wymack’s eyebrows went up at that, but he left it alone.

Finally in the last fifteen minutes, Wymack let them hold the foils. Every single one of them gripped it wrong at first. Most of them gripped it wrong at second, third, and fourth too. Andrew was reminded of Renee’s quiet exasperation with him when teaching him not to smother a knife handle. Other than Andrew, only Neil seemed to easily shift from holding the foil tightly in a fist to the preferred thumb-first finger grip. Andrew side-eyed his neighbor. He couldn’t think of any good reason why Neil seemed so adept at holding stabbing implements.

They spent a few minutes lunging with the swords outstretched, and then Wymack called an end to it. Andrew was vaguely surprised to find himself sweating, but despite that sticky itchiness something was settled in his chest as he slipped behind the wheel of his car and took his helmet and facemask off. He took a deep breath, turned his music up, and headed home.

* * *

Andrew hooked his fencing mask in one hand and his foil in the other. He waved the latter in the general direction of the spider. “You wait,” he told it. “One of these days, I will challenge you to a duel. May the best species win.”

He opened the door, and a fly buzzed in, circling mockingly around his head before disappearing into the depths of the apartment. He looked at the spider. “Get that, would you?”

The second class started with a demonstration between Wymack and someone who looked just like him, meaning dressed in a black fencing outfit complete down to the stupid little pants, their faces both hidden behind their fencing masks. Though Andrew had to admit that he almost forgot about the stupid little pants when he watched them parrying and lunging, how quickly they moved to counter each other.

After that, it was more of the same as the first lesson. More footwork. More posture. More things Renee had said to him over and over in a totally different context. Some lunges with the foils jabbing at nothing. And then, finally: “Okay. I’m gonna regret this when somebody gets stabbed in the jugular, but let’s face off.”

Neil turned to Andrew, cocking his head like a dog who had just heard a high-pitched whistle. He looked like a lost kid in a Star Wars Halloween costume and Andrew kind of wanted to punch him in the face. Mask. Whatever.

Wymack wandered over, arms crossed. “Well?” he asked, through another incongruously brightly-colored facemask, this one with a Hawaiian print. Neil crossed the tape line and squared up a couple yards away, muttering something unintelligible. “Now, this is foil. Only hits to the torso count, but if you stand like that you’re basically making his target as big as possible,” Wymack said to Neil, gesturing with his chin at Andrew. “And did we not just spend the last hour working on footwork, or did I hallucinate that?”

Neil gave a short nod and corrected his position, bringing his left foot back behind him and turning it out. Andrew mirrored him. Wymack nodded, checked their grips, then stepped back. Andrew stared at Neil for a moment; presumably Neil was staring back; and then he raised his foil in a salute in which he absolutely did not almost whack himself in the front of the mask with the hand guard. Neil followed suit, marginally less clumsily, and then they both stood there for a second before Andrew decided to take the offensive. He tucked his left arm close to his body and lunged. Neil scrambled backwards before parrying, and then they basically lunged at each other for a few minutes to the chorus of metal on metal as foil whacked against foil up and down the room.

When Wymack finally called them to a stop, Andrew was out of breath and he suspected he had sweated through his deodorant. And through his undershirt, and potentially his boxers. Neil, on the other had, was still breathing lightly as he jauntily saluted Andrew.

Fucker.

“That was fun,” Neil said, as they all headed for the door.

“It’ll be more fun when I actually stab you,” Andrew said.

Neil made an amused noise and gave a mocking bow before filing out with the rest of them. Andrew followed more slowly, wondering what people on the street thought when a dozen random people in white uniforms and masked helmets came bursting through the door. He’d have to set up a hidden camera or something and find out.

* * *

“So you’ve taken up fencing?” Bee asked through Andrew’s laptop screen.

“That’s wording it a bit strongly.” Andrew sipped at his hot chocolate. It was not quite as good as what Bee always gave him, though he had bought the same mix. But hot chocolate was, as a general rule, better than no hot chocolate, so he wasn’t going to complain.

“How would you phrase it?”

“I’ve opted to pass the time during quarantine wearing a repurposed Hazmat suit while poking people with a blunt sword.”

She smiled over the rim of her mug. “A bit wordy, don’t you think?” Andrew shrugged, and she went on. “How are you handling Aaron’s situation?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. I listen to him vent about the giant clusterfuck that is the ER right now and then I go put on a repurposed Hazmat suit and poke people with a blunt sword.”

He would never admit how much he enjoyed making Bee laugh. “That is certainly a good way to relieve some stress, I would imagine,” she said. “That wasn’t quite what I meant though.”

Andrew knew that, of course. He didn’t particularly want to look at the snarling dogfight of emotions that tore apart his chest every time he heard Aaron’s exhausted voice over the phone, most of which he couldn’t even name.

Anger, he knew; that was a dog he had collared again and again. Fear, too. It was the other ones that he hadn’t let himself buy a leash and a nametag for. Pride, and Care, and something he thought Bee would naively call Love. Well, maybe it wasn’t naivete.

She was waiting, patiently as always, for him to beat his thoughts into some form of order. “There’s a spider that’s taken up residence in my apartment,” he said. If Bee was confused by the non sequitur she gave no sign. “I spent the first couple of days trying to get rid of it.”

Bee gave him a few moments to go on. “I thought you were afraid of spiders,” she prompted.

“I am, I hate them. They’re horrifying. I hate the way they move and all their awful little eyes.” He tapped his thumbs against his laptop while he mulled. “But I couldn’t get rid of it. It was up near the ceiling, I couldn’t reach it. I threw shit at it, I tried a broom, but it just kept going back up there. Here.”

He lifted the laptop, angled it so that the camera could catch the spider. It was just a tiny dark blob against the flat white of the wall, but he knew Bee would notice it. “But the thing is, it catches the flies that keep coming into the apartment because the stupid neighbors are swine. I can recognize that spiders are, for the most part, a necessary and unavoidable aspect of the ecosystem, even if I would prefer not to have that shoved into my face in such a personal way. And this spider is doing its job, and doing it well, and it’s getting rid of the flies that I wish did not exist.”

And Bee understood, as she always understood. “Thank the spider for me,” she said, but her eyes belied the lightness of her tone.

“I will. I named it, did I mention that?”

“What did you name it?”

Andrew’s mouth twitched against his will. “Betsy.”

* * *

Andrew was still scraped raw and on-edge when he took his spot against the wall of the fencing room. Neil was already there, talking to Tall-and-Arrogant in rapid French. Interesting twist. Andrew sat on the floor and toyed with his foil grip, replaying their last class in his head while he watched the others file in.

Neil ambled over just as Wymack called the group to order. He and his assistant, Kevin, did another demonstration, this time focusing on parrying and deflection. Andrew watched Kevin’s impeccable footwork and wondered how Renee would do in this sport.

As always, he ended up facing off with Neil. “So,” Neil quipped as they saluted each other, adopting a posh English accent, “we meet again.”

“I shall look forward personally to exterminating you,” Andrew said, doing his level best to adopt a Bond villain voice.

Neil laughed as he dropped into position. “Is this going to be our version of en garde?”

Andrew parried Neil’s quick lunge, then went on the offensive himself. Neil cursed as he mistimed his parry, and Andrew got the first touch. He then promptly forgot to reset his feet and tripped over himself as he backpedaled, staggering with great grace and dignity and nearly going over the line. He did, of course, get poked in the chest for his trouble.

Kevin came over to watch them both. Even with his fencing helmet on, he managed to radiate haughty superiority. Andrew was tempted to trip again, and send his foil accidentally winging into Kevin’s smug invisible face, but he would just end up getting stabbed again and he couldn’t let himself lose this idiotic match.

Neil managed another touch. Fucker. Andrew set his feet and started forward, hesitating for a second at the clash of Neil’s foil against his own before lunging and stabbing right into Neil’s shoulder. Ha.

When the little sparring match was over—a draw, because Neil was an asshole—Kevin cleared his throat. “You guys should join the competition club,” he announced, with the air of a monarch conferring great favor.

“No.”

Kevin seemed taken aback by Andrew’s flat refusal. “Why not? You could actually be good.”

Andew didn’t bother to answer. The others were stretching out, but his skin was prickling under all his gear and he just wanted to get back in his car and take his helmet off and let the air conditioning work its magic. He left Neil talking with what appeared to be typical Neil-earnestness to Kevin and made his way to the stairs, ignoring the stiffness in his quads.

Halfway down the stairs he heard feet jogging after him. The fencer who appeared had to be Neil, nobody else in the class was that small. He expected Neil to run right on past him but instead he joined Andrew as he pushed through the door and out into the street.

“Not a club guy?” Neil asked as they turned towards the parking garage.

Andrew snorted. “Did you follow me all the way out here just to ask me something that stupid?”

“I think you broke Kevin’s heart a little bit.”

“Bonus.”

Neil laughed that damn laugh, the one that sounded free and careless and too easy to not be real. Andrew thought maybe he hated that laugh.

“What about you? Are you a joiner?” He threw as much contempt into the last word as he could manage.

Neil didn’t answer, not until Andrew was stopped at his car, key fob in hand. “I never have been.” He shrugged, and it was so different from the laugh, so tight and controlled and internal, that Andrew felt an absurd urge to touch his arm. “I don’t really even know why I signed up for this class. But—I like it.”

There was a brief silence between them, only broken by the jingle of Neil’s keys in his restless fingers. “What about you?” Neil asked, just as Andrew turned to open his car. “Why did you take it?”

Andrew thought about his apartment shrinking in around him, about the exhaustion in his brother’s voice and the forced optimism in Nicky’s. He thought about endless nights stretching out into even longer days.

“So I can stab people legally,” he finally said.

And there it was. The laugh.

“Fair enough,” was all Neil said, before disappearing into the shadows of the garage.

Andrew drove home wondering if he had hallucinated the whole conversation.

* * *

_betsy disappeared_

**_What?_ **

**_I just talked to her_ **

_not Bee_

_betsy_

**_Is that your spider?_ **

_she’s not mine_

_she’s her own person_

**_She’s not a person she’s a spider_ **

**_Besides I thought you wanted her gone_ **

Andrew huffed and shook his head at his phone.

_i thought you understood me_

He could practically hear Renee sighing through the phone screen.

**_I’m sorry you lost the spider you spent 2 days trying to murder. Is there anything I can do in this trying time?_ **

_i suppose not. i shall have to mourn alone_

**_Well you’re already dressed for it._ **

Andrew looked down at himself reflexively. She wasn’t wrong.

**_But why are you talking like a Dickens character?_ **

_are you mocking the depths of my grief?_

**_Absolutely_ **

_the next time one of your soufflés comes out flat i will remember this_

😮😮😮 **_are you really comparing misplacing a spider to a ruined dessert?_**

Well, that was a good point.

_no time to argue i have class_

**_Enjoy your biweekly dose of violence!_ **

_enjoy your hypocrisy miss tae kwon do expert_

Andrew looked up at the figure looming over him where he sat against the studio wall. It was slightly too tall and nowhere near twitchy enough to be Neil, and the pommel of their foil had been painted in a rainbow of orange and pink nailpolish to match the lesbian pride flag. He hadn’t bothered to learn the names of the other members of the class, so he just sat and waited for them to go away or speak, preferably the former.

Unfortunately, they opted for the latter.

“Andrew, right?” A gloved hand was extended which Andrew ignored. “Laila. Apparently we’re switching partners today and I drew the short straw.”

Oh, great, a comedian with a joke he had only heard approximately seven bazillion times before. He looked down the row and spotted Neil, who appeared to have been accosted by a different medium-sized asshole. That idiot was talking with their hands, with their foil waving around like an overlong conducting baton. Neil dodged a swing in the vicinity of his head, and Andrew snorted to himself as Wymack swooped in to lecture on sword safety.

Laila turned to see what he was watching, then chuckled as Medium Sized Dumbass clearly started going overboard with the apologizing. Neil turned to face where Andrew was sitting, tossing him a quick one shouldered shrug, and Andrew could just about feel the existence of a smile he had never seen. “Jeremy’s like one of those brainless dogs,” she said, affection suffusing her tone. “You know, the kind that will run into a sliding glass door trying to chase the reflection of a ball?”

“Do I look like I care?” Andrew asked.

She cocked her head. “Yes, actually. Maybe not about Jeremy though.”

Oh, fuck that, he had one overly-involved lesbian in his life already.

Wymack called the class to order with another short demonstration, first quick, then slow. More techniques that at full-speed looked identical to what they had already learned, but slowed down Andrew could see the differences.

The rest of the class crawled by. Laila was quiet, which was better than the obnoxious braying Andrew could hear echoing from down the line. She wasn’t quick like Neil, but she seemed reasonably competent. Andrew did not trip over himself and he did get two more touches than she did, not that he cared.

Meanwhile somewhere down the line Tall-and-Goofy managed to stab himself in the foot. There was an appropriately excessive amount of half-joking whining, and quite a lot of confusion as to how he had managed it. Andrew opted not to stick around for the Unveiling Of The Wound, which was no doubt going to end up being a tiny bruise on an athlete’s-foot-covered cesspool of a foot.

Luck didn’t favor the bold; Kevin caught him in his escape. “Did you think any more about what I said?”

“No.” Andrew attempted to push past him but Kevin hovered a hand in front of his facemask, not touching.

“Why not?”

“Leave him alone, Kevin.” Neil too appeared to be escaping from Certain Fungus.

“But he’s _talented._ ”

“So?”

“So it’s a waste! You could be great at this, you could win—”

“Is it going to improve anybody’s life if I compete?” Andrew interrupted what would no doubt be a lengthy recitation of all the possible glory he could achieve.

Kevin blinked at him. “What?”

“Will I be saving children from starvation, or rare species from extinction, or providing anyone with clean water if I join your competition club.”

“No, but—”

“Why is it not enough just to do things?” Andrew asked conversationally. “Why does everything have to be turned into some formal competition, instead of being something I do to pass the time and improve my coordination?”

“Okay, a., that’s a good question, and b., that’s the most I’ve heard you speak,” Neil said.

“That’s because you talk enough for the both of us.”

Kevin looked between the two of them. “You two know each other?”

“No?” Neil made it into a question. “Just from here.”

Andrew started back down the stairs, ignoring Kevin’s irritated, “Hey!”

He didn’t have to look to know that the light footsteps behind him were Neil’s. “Can’t believe Matt stabbed himself in the foot.” Andrew could hear the smile in Neil’s voice. “Like, how do you even do that?”

“When you’re that tall, the blood doesn’t make it all the way to the brain. It’s science.”

“Ah,” Neil said seriously. “Science. Yes, that makes sense.”

Andrew tried to bite back the laugh that bubbled up but failed. Neil spun around to look at him, walking backwards down the sidewalk. “Was that a laugh? An actual laugh? Don’t strain yourself.”

Andrew grabbed Neil’s sleeve and yanked him sideways before he brained himself on a light post. Neil stumbled over his own feet or a crack in the sidewalk or possibly just air, but he managed to right himself before he actually fell. Andrew wondered for a second what his face would look like before shoving that useless thought away.

“Uh,” Neil said.

Andrew brushed past him to his car. Neil was still watching him from the sidewalk when Andrew drove past him, or at least someone Neil-shaped in a fencing uniform was pointed in the general direction of his car. Andrew tapped two fingers to his forehead in a mocking salute, and received an elaborate bow in response.

Fuck.

* * *

_fuck._

**_Spider?_ **

_no_

_betsy has left me_

_i’m having an entirely un-spider-related crisis_

**_Attractive guy?_ **

_no_

_yes_

_i honestly don’t know_

Andrew let his head fall back against the couch cushion, ignoring the buzz of Renee’s reply. He had been replaying that ridiculous bow in his head for two straight days. Well, to be more accurate, two deeply deeply gay days.

It was just the quarantine getting to him. He hadn’t had a hookup in months, after all. That was why he was not-obsessing over a man he had never actually seen. Just because he was bilingual. And could put on accents. And was maybe a little bit funny. And moved like a dancer, and…

Fuck. Or not-fuck, as it were. He hadn’t been like this since he was a teenager. Actually, not even then. Then he’d been more or less constantly horny but less idiotically moony about it. Now he didn’t even have someone to picture while giving his right hand a workout. It wasn’t like fencing gear did it for him.

His phone vibrated again, falling into the couch cushions as it did so. He fished it out.

**_Wait_ **

**_Andrew_ **

**_Do you like someone-like someone?_ **

**_Ignoring me does nothing to disprove my current theory_ **

_i’m not 12_

**_Still not disproving the theory_ **

Andrew rubbed his hand over his face. He really needed to shave; the patchwork of blond hair on his face was not flattering, but it wasn’t like anyone saw him anyway. Save Bee and Aaron and Nicky through a computer screen.

_no_

_i don’t “like someone” what does that even mean_

Three dots appeared, then disappeared.

**_It means you want to spend time with someone_ **

**_You want to know what makes them tick_ **

**_And you want them to know you too. Not just the public you but_ you**

**_You want to have inside jokes_ **

**_You want to wake up next to them and see how cute their bed head is_ **

**_You want to know if they like coffee or tea, and what their favorite dessert is_ **

**_You want to show them all your favorite movies just so you can see their face, and you want to see all of theirs too even if they’re terrible_ **

**_You want to read them that poetry book you love but pretend you don’t_ **

**_You want to be real with them. For them. Because it feels more real than by yourself and also feels impossible at the same time_ **

Andrew stared at the words that filled his screen. His fingers drummed on the cushion while he thought about what she’d written, fighting through the initial urge to fling the damn phone across the room. His stomach rebelled at the prospect of sharing this—any of this—with his hookups from over the years. Of them being confused by his favorite movie, or not seeing the point in his collection of little odd books that were stored in his coffee table.

_that sounds horrifying_

But he couldn’t force her words from his mind. Couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to have that with someone—a friendship, not just someone to get off with and then kick out as soon as the condom came off. And the thought wouldn’t leave his head. It expanded and bloomed until it hovered outside of him like a thought bubble in a cartoon. But it was stupid and impossible. It was the coyote getting crushed under the giant Acme weight and getting up again just to chase the roadrunner that he would never catch. It was a pipedream, and nothing more.

* * *

Someone was sitting on the wall of the parking garage, looking out over the city.

Andrew peered up at them through his car window. They didn’t look like they were thinking about jumping, they were just...sitting, their legs swinging to kick at the cinderblocks, so most of what he could see was the soles of their sneakers flashing white. He hit his blinker and pulled into the garage, foregoing his usual spot to drive up to the top. Only two other vehicles were up there, an oversized pickup and a nondescript compact somethingorother that looked like a teenager had scraped up enough money babysitting to buy it off Craigslist.

Tucking his car in a safe spot, he hooked the elastics for his facemask over his ears and grabbed his fencing helmet and foil. The person was still sitting there, a silhouette against a sky so blue it was almost white. Andrew propped the foil against his car and made his way over.

The man glanced at him as he approached, the corner of his mouth twitching up a fraction in recognition before he turned his attention back to the city. They weren’t really so far up, but Andrew’s stomach swooped at the drop anyway. He tore his eyes away from the pavement below to study the man.

Neil. To study Neil, for it had to be him.

A fencing helmet rested on the wall next to him, and his white fencing jacket matched Andrew’s own. But even without those clues, Andrew thought he would have known him. His eyes were the pale blue of sea ice, but they weren’t cold; they held the same warmth as the summer sky above them and were nearly as distant. He had cheekbones and a jawline a Hollywood actor would sell their soul for, and an expressive mouth, and faded scarring on both cheeks that somehow managed to be beautiful—

And even though he looked like something out of one of Andrew’s wet dreams, somehow it didn’t even matter.

Andrew wanted to sit on the couch and watch old movies with him just to see his reaction.

“Neil,” he said, cautiously sitting down next to him.

“Andrew. You have a face.”

Andrew hummed. “I was starting to think you were some sort of strange alien, like a Doctor Who creature, where you had been taken over by the fencing outfit and weren’t really human anymore.”

Neil’s mouth quirked again, but the humor was the barest flicker in his eyes.

They sat in silence listening to the strange music of the city below. A breeze played around them, rippling the dark copper of Neil’s hair and drying the sweat on Andrew’s neck. The minutes ticked by. Class was starting, but they made no move to get up.

“You should go,” Neil murmured.

Andrew shrugged, then grabbed onto the ledge when it felt like he was about to topple. “Do you want me to?”

A crinkle appeared between Neil’s eyes. “I don’t want you to miss it, just because—“ His breathing hitched, and he grimaced at himself. “You should go.”

“I’ve never been one to do as I’m told.”

Another little ripple of amusement, a tiny pebble in a deep pond. “Me either.”

A horn blared in the distance, and the crosswalk sign beeped below them, and someone laughed in the street, and still neither of them moved. “I didn’t mean to do this,” Neil murmured, quietly enough that Andrew shifted closer. “I thought—I wanted to go. I thought it would help.” That expressive mouth twisted wryly, and he gestured to the fine deliberate lines that scored his right cheek. “Should’ve known better.”

Andrew hummed. There was something to be said for routine and activity on bad days; Bee had taught him that. He got to his feet. “Come on.”

Neil’s brow furrowed, even as he swung his legs back into the safety of the garage. “What are we doing?”

“It’s the stabby bits that are the problem, yes?”

Neil huffed a reluctant laugh. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”

“What does Wymack always blather on about? Fencing is ninety five percent footwork. So.” Andrew gestured to the mostly empty lot. “No stabbing required.”

And so they practiced, correcting each other’s posture, working on quickness and the core engagement Renee was always on Andrew about. They used the parking lot lines as their guides as they shuffled back and forth, sometimes faster, sometimes slower. After a while, Andrew dug out his phone and pulled up some music. Neil laughed, a real true laugh, as the [Sabre Dance](https://open.spotify.com/track/672qK11fprMeMxDK9Fb0NU) started playing.

“What is this, a cartoon?” he asked, even as he sped up his tempo. “Am I going to be chased by some giant purple cat or something?”

“You tawt you taw a puddy tat?” Andrew asked, as he lunged and then sped backwards, dodging an invisible opponent.

“Are you the cat?” Neil asked, pausing to wipe his forehead. The major downside to their plan was that it was fucking hot in the sun on the roof of the garage, and Andrew was slightly smug to see Neil suffering almost as much as he was.

“I could be a cat. I may have turned into one with the quarantine, actually, since all I do is lie around and eat.”

Neil studied Andrew with that stupid cocked-head thing he always did, which was made less comical and much more intense without the fencing helmet. “I find that hard to believe.”

The heat creeping up the back of Andrew’s neck was just the sun beating down on him. “Shut up and get back to work.”

Again, that laugh.

When they finally had sweated through every single layer of clothing, they sat in the narrow strip of shade the neighboring building threw onto the edge of the roof. Neil slumped against the low wall, letting his head loll. Andrew could feel his eyes boring into the side of his face, but he sipped his water and pretended to ignore it.

“Thank you,” Neil said quietly. “I hate that my brain does that, you know?”

Andrew fiddled with his water bottle. “Brains are weird. They don’t always believe the shitty bits are over.”

“Yeah. It doesn’t seem to matter how much time passes where everything’s okay, I don’t know why that is.”

Andrew let himself meet Neil’s eyes, and his breath almost caught at the darkness he saw mirrored there. “Because the tiger could still be out there.”

The tiny smile that tugged at Neil’s lips was honest and raw. “Fucking tigers.”

“Fucking tigers,” Andrew agreed.

The shadows were starting to reach with cautious hands across the pavement. Andrew finished his water. He should get up, go home, shower, eat, do all the little rituals that made him vaguely resemble a normal human.

He didn’t move. Neither did Neil.

“The thing is,” Neil said, “all my tigers are dead. And I know that. I know it. I just can’t feel it sometimes.”

“Brain tigers aren’t like real tigers, though. They’re like...whack-a-mole. They just keep popping up and you have to just keep smacking them back down.”

Neil snorted. “Well, thank you for whacking down my brain tigers today.”

“I didn’t,” Andrew said. “I just handed you a stick.”

Neil glanced at his watch and got to his feet. “I’m going to go. Class is almost over, and I don’t want—” He gestured in the direction of the enormous truck, which presumably belonged to one of the other students.

Andrew nodded and stood, brushing random bits of sand off his pants. “See you next week.”

Neil nodded and opened the door to his stupid little car before turning back. “Do you want to get coffee? Or tea or whatever?”

Andrew blinked. The “no” was on the tip of his tongue; it was lighter, freer, easier to say than “yes,” which bore all the weight of unfamiliar hope. His thumbnails dug into the pads of his index fingers, and he took a breath.

“Yes.”

* * *

The leaves were falling, drifting down to leave a bright rustling carpet on the sidewalk. Neil followed Andrew into his apartment, kicking off his shoes as he went. “I’m telling you,” he said, “you have to read it. It’s so bizarre, like, he’s a god, stuck as a tortoise, but it’s really this whole satire about religion and politics, and it’s way smarter than I am, you’d love it. It’s amazing.”

Andrew flopped down on his couch and snagged the remote. “I haven’t read the others though.”

“I haven’t either, I don’t think it matters much.” Neil dropped next to him, seemingly unaware that his thigh was pressed against Andrew’s knee. “What are we watching?”

Two months now, they had been doing this strange little dance, their orbits around each other getting smaller and smaller. Andrew still wasn’t sure what it was, though both Renee and Bee had Opinions. “That’s up to you. Did you bring it?”

“My favorite movie?”

“Your _secret_ favorite movie, which we’ve already established is not Spider-Man of any version despite what you try to pretend.”

Neil’s cheeks flushed and he glanced down at his hands. “It’s in my jacket.”

“Is it porn?”

Neil appeared to choke on his tongue. “What? No?”

Andrew waved a hand at him. “It’s a plausible explanation for the fact that you appear to be about to catch fire.”

“Not because it’s porn, you asshole. It’s—it’s a kid’s movie, and you’ve probably seen it already.”

Andrew snapped his fingers. “I know. It’s Barbie: Princess Charm School.”

Neil gaped at him. “You’ve seen Barbie: Princess Charm School?”

“Wait.” Andrew blinked. “Is that actually it?”

“Fuck no. You are a terrible guesser.” Neil laughed and shook his head as he dug around in his jacket pocket before pulling out a DVD in a plain jewel case. “Here.”

Andrew would recognized the disc anywhere. It was WALL-E. He looked up at Neil, one eyebrow raised. “‘Psst. Computer: define dancing.’”

Neil ducked his head, but Andrew could see the smothered smile, the rich color staining his cheeks. He grabbed the jewel case out of Neil’s hand and waved it at him. “Yours or mine?”

“Yours first.”

Andrew got up and dug through his DVDs until he found the right one. He glanced at Neil, who was watching him with that rapt look on his face, and then hit play.

“Harvey? Ooh, it’s black and white. Fancy.”

Andrew snorted and settled back into the couch cushions. Neil flopped around until he had made himself comfortable; Andrew resisted the urge to just pull Neil against his chest and be done with it. And Neil laughed in all the right places, and got indignant when he was supposed to, and raised his fist in triumph at the end.

“That was not what I was expecting, but I think I get it,” Neil said, once Andrew had pressed stop. He twisted around so he was facing Andrew, and there was something soft and open in his face. “I mean, it sets you up one way, and then turns you around. Like, you’re supposed to think he’s crazy, right? But he’s not, he just sees everything like it is. He’s not biased like everyone else is, therefore he must be insane.”

Warmth spread through Andrew’s chest. “‘Overcome time, space, and any objections.’”

They were both leaning against the back of the couch, close enough to touch. Neil started to raise a hand towards Andrew’s face but stopped himself, letting it fall into his lap. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I kind of really want to kiss you right now.”

Andrew’s breath caught like some idiot teenager in a high school movie. “So kiss me.”

“Yeah?”

Andrew cupped Neil’s jaw in his hand, stroking a thumb over the smooth ridges of scars on his cheek. “Or do you need a map?”

Neil hummed, leaning into the touch. “Maybe an instruction manual. You know, step-by-step? With those little illustrations?”

“Step one might be the hardest one for you.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s ‘stop talking’.”

Andrew could feel Neil’s smile when he finally kissed him, could taste it on his lips, slow and sweet like caramel. There was something almost hesitant about the way Neil responded. No, not hesitant—savoring. Andrew asked, with his lips and his tongue and his fingers brushing along Neil’s cheeks; and Neil answered in kind, seeking, his hands twisting in Andrew’s sleeves like a drowning man holding onto a rope. Only Andrew thought maybe he was drowning too.

Somewhere along the way, Andrew realized this was what it was to give without taking, and to receive without pushing back. And when he finally gentled and pulled away, the same realization was stark on Neil’s face.

“Oh,” Neil said. He cleared his throat. “Could we have been doing that this whole time?”

“Not this _whole_ time,” Andrew said. “We had to eat and sleep sometimes.”

Neil nodded, attempting and failing to school his expression into something serious. “Maybe brush our teeth too.”

“Maybe.”

Neil watched himself lace their fingers together, giving their hands an experimental swing. “What about now?”

“I think something can be arranged.”

Neil made what was probably supposed to be an indignant noise. “Are you going to be a pompous asshole about this?”

Andrew leaned in to brush his nose against Neil’s. “Kind of looks like it, doesn’t it?”

“You should probably kiss me again, just to prove it wasn’t a fluke before you start gloating.”

So Andrew kissed him again, and again, and again.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm in the middle of posting my Big Bang but I couldn't resist throwing this silly little fic out there too. I should probably thank @biggest-gaudiest-patronuses on Tumblr for the whack-a-mole theory of dealing with mental health issues, it definitely resonated with my personal experiences. Also, if you're wondering, the book referenced is Small Gods by Terry Pratchett. As for Harvey, Andrew's favorite movie: it is both hilarious and a kind of disturbing look into the mid-20th-century approach towards mental health, with what would today be seen as a lot of ableism in terms of language. But the underlying message seems like one that would resonate with Andrew, and I think he would have greatly enjoyed the banter and humor.
> 
> As always, I live for your comments and I would love to see what you think about this! You can hmu [on Tumblr](https://fuzzballsheltiepants.tumblr.com) anytime!


End file.
